


last man standing

by apocryphic



Series: a hundred simple ways [5]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Recall, Pre-Relationship, Workplace emotional toil, Workplace making the best of it, workplace injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 16:35:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13551312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocryphic/pseuds/apocryphic
Summary: A list of rules concerning Jesse McCree, provided by Genji Shimada (with citations and amendments.)





	last man standing

**Author's Note:**

> [exit - koda](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IIEFd5-Doq0)   
>  [bury me face down - grandson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DLbqnmvLPKE)

There have never been so many rules for dealing with Jesse McCree.

Years ago, when Genji felt as if he was many more sharp edges than he ever was a person, McCree was a force that could stand his own against him. But sometimes things got out of hand, and Genji would find himself demanding some unknown catharsis that McCree was happy to give. He remembers the strange, off-balance feeling when he'd realized it was mutually beneficial; he remembers brushing it off as soon as it crossed his mind.

It's never been an overstatement to claim McCree was the best friend that Genji had in Blackwatch, but he's still amused when he recalls McCree's reaction as he'd told him so when they'd reunited. The way his brow furrowed and his nose wrinkled up and his lips twisted with a baffled frown. As if it was impossible to consider what they'd been friends.

_And what are we now?_

Genji watches the Gibraltar sky turn gold from where he's perched on the flat catwalk. His feet dangle over air, his hands braced behind him as he leans forward to peer up at the looming cliffs. There's a bitter nostalgia to the view, but more than that, he's glad to finally _see_ it. Birds flit from the rocks high above him, and he gathers his thoughts again.

His list of rules for McCree was always more of a short list of suggestions back then. A very simple list, truthfully, but nowadays there's a complexity that wasn’t there in the past. Genji's been forced to rethink them on the fly.

Certainly, McCree looks different. There are more lines that crinkle his eyes, and beneath, even darker circles. His hair is longer and messier, and his beard hides the telltale wrinkles of age. He complains that he has to try a little harder to get out of bed in the mornings, and that the connections between his elbow and his prosthetic ache something awful in the rain. He drinks more coffee but at stranger hours. Maybe the only thing that has yet to make some great change is his aim — that, Genji knows, has stayed exactly as good as always.

McCree is fickler, more _sensitive_ , though he thinks if he points it out that McCree might laugh. And sometimes there's a touch of envy that Genji catches out of the corner of his eye, or between pauses in words when they talk. He's not cruel enough to question McCree on it, but he's not blind enough to miss it either.

Genji breathes in, deep and slow, allowing himself a moment of pause. Then he takes the short way off the catwalk by scaling down the connecting towers.

Maybe it betrays him to think so deeply about McCree. But that isn't enough to make him stop.

 

* * *

 

 

_Rule one, previous iteration: Nobody can find him when he doesn't want to be found._

_Rule one, amended: You can find him._

 

Ana Amari is alive again, and with her return comes a slew of emotion. While Genji was never particularly close with her, he knows plenty of what she's done for all of the old Overwatch members, and some of what she means to the new. She tells them that she doesn't plan to join them at Gibraltar immediately, preferring to stay in the field for reasons she doesn't disclose. It may be for the best with how Reinhardt and Torbjörn have not stopped looking pained and relieved all at once since they received the news. Genji is expecting one of them to start crying at any moment. Fareeha, new to the fold, who arrived bearing the letter from her mother, is exuberant and determined in the face of questions she cannot answer.

McCree, however, makes himself scarce in the time afterward.

Genji tracks him down through sheer stubborn will. He doesn't spend every waking hour searching for the man, with any number of things falling into his realm of responsibilities, but he thinks of McCree more than he'd like to admit. He checks the shooting range, the training area, the kitchen, even McCree's room — while there is a small part of him that reflexively worries McCree's absence is a permanent one, he has enough faith in whatever unnamed trust they share that McCree would tell him if he was leaving.

Eventually, Genji finds him holed up in the garage, messing with what looks to be a clunky, broken part from some sort of transport.

"Sneaky hiding place," Genji says, leaning against the doorway.

McCree barely turns his head to glance at Genji. His hat rests on the worktable, his hair tied back. There's oil smeared over his nose. Genji almost wants to call him cute for it, instead pushing off of the wall to walk in.

"Who says I'm hiding?" McCree says, gruff. He shifts his attention back to the contraption he's working on — an engine, Genji realizes, now that he's closer. "Winston's been wantin' to get it in shape before Torb tries draggin' all his gear up the terrain," McCree adds, as if sensing the need for an explanation.

"Efficient," Genji says. He makes his choice to stay and sits on a nearby stool.

"Or somethin'."

They both fall into quiet, only the squeak and strain of metal, steel on steel, disrupting the silence. Dim light illuminates the dust particles that stir up with every movement, and Genji pretends to be fascinated by McCree's work until he feels he's been overly polite for long enough.

"I apologize if I am intruding," Genji says.

"S'nothin' of the sort," McCree mutters, not looking up.

"Isn't it?"

McCree pauses. He taps a finger against his knee and Genji watches the span of his shoulders rise and fall in a deep breath. "Sorta," he admits. Finally, he looks at him. "Glad it's you, though. And not Angie or somebody else."

Genji smiles wryly. "I believe everyone else is occupied. But your absence has not gone unnoticed."

McCree puffs out a breath, scattering ragged bits of hair, and goes back to what he was doing. "Figures."

Genji waits. He crosses his legs at the knee and props an elbow there, rests his chin on his palm with the air of someone expecting something. It isn't long before McCree begins to side-eye him once more, his expression otherwise unreadable. McCree's always been very good at keeping what he wants to off of his face. It used to frustrate him; now Genji has the patience to wait that little bit of extra time for the other shoe to drop.

McCree exhales again and gives up on his handiwork, seeming suddenly more restless. Genji straightens. "You're distracting," he says, accusatory.

His lips twitch. "I thought I was being very good."

"You are," McCree starts, frowning, and says nothing else.

Genji only looks at him dubiously. "I don't see the problem."

"It's —" There's a suspended second and McCree finally pushes his hair away with a jerky motion, standing up in the same stiff way. "I can't _focus_ any, is all. This piece of shit engine ain't going nowhere anytime soon, and then we're all gonna have to haul Torb's crap up the fuckin' cliffs ourselves."

"And you can't focus," Genji repeats.

"And I can't _fucking_ focus."

They both know why. Genji's just the first one to say it. "Because of Amari."

He might as well have shocked him for how quickly McCree goes taut all over, head to toe. He stares Genji down and Genji stares right back, no stranger to the steely hold to McCree's shoulders and certainly not to the icy silence. He almost expects him to just walk out and leave him there, but he's pleasantly surprised when McCree only averts his gaze and works his jaw.

"What the hell d'you think?" McCree asks, rough and raw.

"She asked if you'd rejoined Overwatch," Genji tells him gently, "in the last holocall."

McCree looks pained, glancing upwards. Genji tilts his head at him, patient, before he kicks his foot out to lightly hit McCree's boot. The single touch, for all it is, seems to do the trick — McCree's shoulders fall and he swallows.

"Let's reel it back a tick," McCree says. "Pretend I lied 'n said I can't focus, but it's all your fault this time 'round. Nothing else." He clears his throat and nudges his boot against Genji's foot. "Play along?"

And it isn't that it _sounds_ pleading, or even that it's pleading at all. McCree's just making a simple request of him, and he's still turned upside down, and Genji doesn't even have to think about it before he's made his decision to do exactly that for him, _play along_. It's the easiest thing in the world, barring the little wave of concern that he doesn't let get to him.

"My silent presence alone is enough to steal your attention?" Genji asks, lilting, and watches the rest of the stress bleed out of McCree.

"You got a big personality," he replies, quick.

There's a part of Genji that's tempted not to let him get away with it, but there are some things more important than honesty — _sincerity_ , he thinks, is one. He stands up in a smooth motion, walking on over to the worktable nearby. McCree's hat is still resting on top of it, and he plucks it up and slides his fingers along the brim of it. Leaning on the table, he watches McCree carefully, a smile crooking the corners of his lips higher.

"Oh?" he asks, "And what else?"

He doesn't bring Ana up again, but a day later he catches sight of Fareeha at McCree's side, McCree carefully typing something out on his tablet before sending it off. He slouches and rubs his jaw tiredly, and she just puts a firm hand on his shoulder.

Genji slips out before he can be caught, more relieved than he expected himself to be.

 

* * *

 

 

_Rule two, previous iteration: Be competent, because he cares about the mission._

_Rule two, amended: Be competent, because he cares about more than that._

 

All of Genji's own good luck in recent missions catches up with him when he's left in the wake of an exploded building, ears ringing from it all as walls steadily crumble. He's disoriented much less than someone without his _additions_ would be, but he's still left reeling, and his legs aren't working right to get him on his feet again — because, he notices, one of them is completely gone.

He looks over at his side, squinting through his shattered visor. His arm, too. Shame.

His HUD flickers, and he tries to fix it by raising his head and is about half a second from slamming his forehead into the floor below him when he's yanked into someone's arms, his broken-up sight feeding him visuals of a hat and a red serape.

Genji goes lax into McCree's arms as they book it away from the building. It's only when it collapses entirely behind them, kicking up dust and rock and debris, that Genji glares McCree's way. He shouldn't have been in there, but it's not like Genji can criticize since he'd been just as fully aware that the enemy was training a rocket on the place to destroy their evidence.

At some point McCree put a bandana over his mouth and nose to protect himself from the smoke rising around them. It looks old, patchwork and fraying, and he studies it absently before he notices McCree's talking to him.

"— doin' this," McCree is saying, the words filtering through as if he's underwater.

Genji growls and wrestles the ruined visor away, pulling his helmet off with it. He can hear clearly, _finally_ , though his head aches in a way he's unaccustomed to these days. "What?" he asks, once he's done puzzling over his own mortality.

McCree looks down at him, the bandana covering most of his face, but his brows pinch together. "Said, I almost never reckoned I'd be the one doing this," McCree repeats, and raises his armful of Genji as if to demonstrate. "You've been patchin' me up so much lately, figured it'd be me in the line of fire. Again."

Black spots dance in the edges of his vision. "I can't let you have all the fun," Genji says, blinking it away.

McCree snorts. "Concussions ain't any fun, honey."

But Genji is glad for his concussion, so says McCree, if only so that it gives him an excuse to be unbearably tender when he rests his head against McCree's shoulder. McCree's thumb rubs against the inside of his one good knee.

"Did you pick up my arm?" Genji asks, his heart in his throat, betraying him now but not when a rocket had come bursting through the fucking wall. Of course.

"And your leg, and your pretty sword."

"My arm and my leg aren't pretty?" He presses his cheek against McCree's serape to distract himself.

Lena cuts in over the comm channel, telling them that their ride is nearby, and McCree trots on over in the right direction between empty alleys and streets filling with more and more concerned (and panicked) people. Genji's content to bite his tongue against the pain rather than trying to hold a conversation, but McCree has to get the last word in the final few steps before he puts Genji into the seat nearest to the door.

"You're the prettiest thing I've ever seen," he says as he heads back out, tugging the bandana down to give a wink and a grin.

And then the transport door shuts.

Genji could just _throttle_ him for it.

 

The rest of the team — which consists of _only_ McCree — handles the remainder of the mission perfectly, and Genji is left simmering in the transport until he returns. Angela's already got Winston preparing to fix up the limbs that he's lost, but that won't be until they get back to Gibraltar. One of the few things that pulls Genji's irritation inside-out is being left near useless. Angela is sympathetic, but doesn't coddle; she simply tries to make sure that she takes care of the human edge of the pain by turning off whatever connections she can.

"Has he always been like this?" Lena asks from the front, turning around in her seat. She points at her earpiece, as if to show that the _he_ she's talking about is the one still raising hell somewhere.

"Running off on his own to get things done when all else fails?" Genji asks, dry. At the same time, both he and Angela finish, "Yes."

Lena sighs, longing. "Wish I coulda gotten away with that back in the day."

Genji, with his remaining hand, tries to rub at a scuff on his armor. "He likes working alone."

It's always suited McCree, too, but he keeps that to himself.

Only a few more minutes pass in the relative quiet, Lena playing one of Lúcio's tracks from the front speakers. The soft beat playing has the pain at the back of his mind. Genji lays back into the seat a little more relaxed (or as much as he can be), and then McCree's pulling himself into the transport, no worse for wear and with a certain cheer to him. He's missing the bandana. Genji raises a brow and he only shrugs as he slumps into the seat next to him.

"Things went without a hitch, I take it," Genji says as they take off. Lena whoops excitedly from the pilot seat while Angela joins her.

"Just dandy," McCree replies, gleeful. "Our smuggler friend ran real slow. Even slower with a bullet in his knee — don't tell Angie. Anyway, I dumped him on the authority's front door with a nice li'l note about where to find the rest of his stash that didn't get blown to bits. That rocket of his? Illegal as all get-out, too. We did a good deed, draggin' him off the streets."

Genji can probably count how many times he's heard McCree say so many words with so much happiness, but he only takes the chance to lean his head over onto his shoulder in lieu of picking at him for it.

McCree waits a moment, the silence from him almost thoughtful in its weight, and then puts an arm around Genji to nestle him in further to his side.

"You okay?" he asks, suddenly soft.

It nearly throws Genji off. The tone shift had been so quick. From adrenaline-and-victory to something so gentle. He wasn't expecting it, and it must show in his lack of response, because McCree leans back to get a better, more scrutinizing look at him. Genji presses his lips together in displeasure at having been caught, the touch of laughter in McCree's eyes making something in his chest settle sideways.

"Three-fourths of me is doing just fine," he responds.

McCree hums. After another few beats, he admits, sheepish, "I was worried when you didn't respond to me there for a bit."

"I couldn't hear you until I took my helmet off." Genji clicks his tongue. "Besides, I'm more durable than you will ever be."

"You had a building come down on top a'you."

"And I'm only out an arm and leg for it."

McCree shrugs in a way to keep from jostling him. Genji turns his head to press his lips against McCree’s neck, and feels the way McCree goes lax in all of a second.

 

* * *

 

 

_Rule three, previous iteration: Don't insult Commander Reyes, even if he does._

_Rule three, amended: Don't talk about Reyes at all._

 

Genji glances from the dent in the metal wall of the training area to McCree's left hand, held tight in a fist. The knuckles look bent inward somehow, McCree's other arm still held in a sling, his hair cropped shorter to make way for the bandages covering the side of his head. _Danger_. His whole stance screams _danger_ , and Genji is just standing there looking him over.

"Don't start," McCree tells him, the calmest he's ever sounded.

"Angela will be disappointed if you ruin your stitches," Genji says, not unkind.

"Which ones?" he asks darkly, giving some half-aborted gestures to his side, where shotgun shells clipped him, then to his hopeless arm that took Reaper's claws too deeply before he wrenched himself free and broke it from a too-long fall.

"Jesse." _He was my commander, too,_ Genji nearly says, but that isn't fair. Reyes was many things to him (the most well-matched sparring partner he ever had, for one), but he was always more to McCree, who used to hold Reyes' esteem on his chest like a ward against the rest of the world, like a _look, see, I've come so damn far._

But just because Genji doesn't say it doesn't mean that McCree doesn't read it on his face in the split second he forgets to watch himself. Genji gets an angry scoff for his trouble and a good view of McCree's back as he turns away and begins to walk — limping, just a little, not so extreme that anyone else other than Genji would notice.

It's not his place to run after McCree. That isn't what they do; they lean on each other at awkward times, at hard times, at playful times, but it's not Genji's responsibility to try wrangling him back into sanity and away from the edge of whatever sharp, unsteady wreck he's headed towards.

He goes anyway.

Genji catches up to him in the time it takes McCree to get to the exit of the training area, and though McCree gives him a surprised glance that quickly goes stony, the tightness in Genji's chest disappears a little.

"I'm intruding again," Genji says to him.

"I don't need —"

He goes still and quiet when Genji takes his metal wrist in hand, McCree left staring at the point of contact like he can't make sense of it before he closes himself off again. Genji clenches his jaw, but his hold on McCree stays only tight enough to hang on.

"If you really don't want me here, then tell me now," Genji says. "I'll leave you alone."

He hears McCree suck in a breath, as if he might be about to speak, but no further protest comes. Genji waits, then turns and starts off at an easy pace, not once dropping his hold on him. He steals a look back at McCree to see him tired and resigned, near dead on his feet. Still not sleeping well, even with painkillers in his system.

Genji walks him past the rooms on the base, counting the doors until they get to his own.

"You need to rest instead of tearing down the base." Genji walks in, finally letting him go, and McCree hesitates before joining him. "You've been out of the infirmary, what? An hour? Did you tell Angela that you were going to the kitchen?"

McCree scowls, presumably unhappy that Genji knows him so well. "Told her I was hungry."

Genji begins pulling the sheets from the top of his bed. "Are you?"

There's a small pause before McCree replies, even more unhappily, "No."

"Then sleep." Genji turns to face him, then gestures at the bed.

"I don't…" McCree frowns, flicks his attention over to Genji and away again. "I thought you wanted to talk."

"You know we would both hate that," Genji says dryly.

It startles a laugh out of McCree, who groans and hiccups a breath, favoring his side as he drags his feet on over. He's still wearing a thin t-shirt and softer pants, stripped of his gear as he'd been rushed to the medbay after returning from the mission, so there's little for Genji to remove to make him more comfortable. He does help him ease out of his shoes though, and doesn't comment on the fact that McCree really can't pull off sweatpants and cowboy boots. He also doesn't comment on the dry blood speckling them.

McCree lays down with some effort. Genji’s halfway to grabbing his tablet and settling across the room and into a chair when McCree tugs the covers down on the other side of the bed, clearing his throat. "S'big enough for two," he says, which is obviously a lie. "Don't wanna steal your bed."

Genji checks the clock. It's eight in the evening. "I could sleep," he allows, which is even _more_ obviously a lie.

The first thing Genji notices, once he's in the bed, is that his bed may not be built for two, but they're managing fairly well. The nature of McCree's injuries means he's not going to be splaying himself out, so there's some hope for the remainder of the night. They still end up pressed together, shoulder to hip, legs touching no matter how they each try to resituate.

McCree's the first to surrender; he hides his face against Genji's neck, each strained breath stirring against what remains of Genji's skin there. Genji retaliates by resting his arm over his waist and holding him closer. By now they've given up pretending they aren't cuddling and McCree's knee gets between both of his, and Genji marvels at how comfortable the uncomfortable mattress suddenly feels.

"Don't know how well I'll be sleeping," McCree mumbles into the curve of his throat, but already his voice is rough, exhaustion tugging the pitch lower.

"You'll be fine," he murmurs back, softer than ever.

Genji slides his hand along the length of McCree’s spine indulgently, only aiming to comfort. Perhaps there's a time in the future where he'll do this to coax McCree into a grin, to have his touch exploring and greedy. Now may not be the time, but for a split second his traitorous brain wonders if they'll ever get there.

Silently, as he plays fingers through McCree's hair, he dares to hope that they do.

 

The next morning arrives lethargically _slowly_ for Genji. He wakes up throughout the night every time McCree so much as twitches, but he doesn't have it in him to get frustrated when he'd invited him here himself. He dozes off for the final time as the sun is rising, falling asleep with the faint impression of McCree's relaxed, unbothered expression behind his eyelids.

When he wakes up, McCree's already awake, his hand resting on Genji's hip and his thumb drawing little circles there. Genji hums, letting his eyes drift shut once more to savor the moment before he has to ruin it.

"Your bed's small as shit," McCree says with a kind of quiet that Genji wants to hold like a secret.

_Terrifying_ , he thinks to himself, _the power that a man's early-morning-breath voice has over him_. (Among many other things.)

"I'm sure yours is no better," he replies. Genji quickly takes stock of him with a swift once-over. The biotic injection Angela had given him must have fixed up his arm in the night, because McCree ditched the sling at some point. Genji has no idea how he didn't disturb him while taking it off, but he has no plans on asking.

At least he doesn't look any worse. McCree's eyes are brighter, looking less like he might bite off Genji's head for implying that he may not be okay. Overall: improvements.

McCree kisses him.

He's admittedly a little upset at first that McCree manages to catch him so entirely unaware. Genji, who very much enjoys kissing and has not been given much of a chance for it as of late, presses back into it almost instantly, deepens it because he can, chases his lips when McCree draws away for a breath.

That hand on his hip moves to his face and Genji turns his cheek into it while McCree takes a second to lick at his lower lip.

"You bit me," he says, surprised.

"Did I?" Genji asks with feigned innocence.

McCree huffs a laugh and leans into him, Genji's arms going around him once more. His body is warm and heavy and decidedly comfortable; Genji exhales, satisfied.

"Ugh," McCree eventually sighs. "I feel like I got hit by a train."

Genji noses at his hair, brushes lips where the bandages begin. "You should have Angela check everything again. You know. Just in case."

"Good luck gettin' me outta this bed."

"I thought it was too small," Genji reminds him, a smile playing on the corners of his mouth.

McCree just settles more fully along his side. "I could live with it a li'l longer."

Genji will get him out of the bed at some point and drag him to Angela to make sure there's no permanent damage. He'll bring up yesterday and McCree will shutter off again, but maybe things will go a little differently. Maybe McCree will bring it up, so that Genji doesn't have to. Maybe they'll manage to stop circling the problem for the duration of just one talk. Maybe Genji will tell him something straightforward; maybe McCree will tell him the truth.

Not for the first time, he's thinking too hard about him. This wasn't a problem he had before he fell into caring so deeply about McCree, but any annoyance at the new bad habit slips from him when he's allowed another kiss.

"Good morning," he murmurs belatedly against McCree's mouth.

"Mornin'," McCree returns in the space between them.

**Author's Note:**

> ty for sticking with me through this whole lil series <3


End file.
